Murder by Threes
by Poe-TheRavenOfNevermore
Summary: So this is a mystery pairing, you have to read to find out. Angsty drabble. Warning: Beware of cussing. I own nothing, am making no money, and mean no disrespect. Based on characters not real people. Thanks for reading. All input is greatly appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

So I have been a part of the community for a while but haven't posted anything for several months. I have just been putting stuff in my journal and been to chicken to post them to the community. Any and all input would be greatly appreciated!

**Title:** Murder by Threes

**Word Count:** 257

**Summary:** So this is a mystery pairing, you have to read to find out. It is short so if you hate it will be over fast if you can't stop yourself. It is an angsty character death in a "what if" situation. I had it in my head and it needed to come out.

**Warning:** I own nothing, am making no money, and mean no disrespect. This is based off of the characters of the Band of Brothers mini-series and not the real men.

"_I was counting on forever, now I'll never know_

_I can't even breathe_

_It's like I'm looking from a distance_

_Standing in the background_

_Everybody's saying, he's not coming home now_

_This can't be happening to me"_

Carrie Underwood- "Just a Dream"

All he can do is stare, just stare down at the pale blood stained face of the man he loves. The man that loved him.

The single embodiment of all that was good and right in this war, in this world. The one man that looked at him not just with fear-hedged admiration but with love and longing.

He is, was -will always be- the single kindest person he will ever know.

In the face of such adversity, such death, he had always been there for the men, for him. For him when he had need someone like him the most, when he had needed that hope, that belief that there was something, someone to start collecting for. Someone to start collecting with for a future that seemed so close at hand with the ending of the war in Europe. It had seemed so possible but now it is gone.

It is all gone, with one drunken shot from a fucking gun of some fucking replacement it is all fucking gone.

Gone in one quick almost unnoticeable blast of a barrel.

One well-aimed bullet in this fucked up war.

Just one more atrocity in this all but over war, by one of our own. So what is another in the scheme of things, it all means so little now.

Only certainties remain and they are these:

The replacement is going to die-

He had taken life, now Speirs was going to take his.

When he shot Lipton he hadn't just killed one man he had murdered three.


	2. Mass of Blood and Foam

I have now decided to add a second part, a post death fire-after-the-lightening-strike-sort-of-thing. It wanted to come out and this is what happened. Obviously my subconscious was not happy with the sentiments in the previous piece and wanted more. This is short, just like the other one.

I got the title from the song "Autoclave" by the Mountain Goats, which I first heard on the amazing Speirs centered fanmix by ferme2 (I'm 99% sure, but I can't find proof I'm right, so tell me if I'm not so I can fix this!) called You Run with the Devil.

Any and all input would be greatly appreciated!!!

**Warning:** Cussing! I own nothing, am making no money, and mean no disrespect. This is based off of the characters of the Band of Brothers mini-series and not the real men.

**Mass of Blood and Bones:**

I don't know what to do. I can't think straight. I just want to find him, I want to kill him. I want the man lying at my feet in a bleeding mass. To feel his blood dripping down my fists. To breath in the satisfaction and feel it in my gut as I tear him to pieces. To watch him slowly waste away just as his actions made me watch the man I love do so minuets earlier.

All I could do was watch, fucking watch as he slowly slipped away from me. The one man I had let in. That I had let myself hope for, hope with. The one man that I had allowed myself to feel alive with.  To be with mind, body, and soul. The only person I ever loved and he died in my arms.  As the life slowly, angonizingly, drained from his body so did mine.   Death is an enemy I couldn't fight but this man is.  I know that no matter what happens, it won't matter, not now.

There was no future. No hope of going home. No home to go to anymore. My home had just died.

I was already dead and there is no future for the dead. Just one last act. One last dieing wish. One last thing to do then there would be nothing.

I will just disappear.

With him gone there was nothing to tether me to this earth anymore. He had become my anchor and he was gone now. My rage is the only thing that remains. It gives life to my limbs, forces me to move, to run. It will drive me to hit, to kick, to find new ways to make things bend.

This man, whoever he is has no idea what he has done, no idea what so ever.

His death will not be as quick as Liptons nor as painless as mine, the lack of these in both situations speaks to what he will soon experience. Lipton was strong, he hung on for hours, and I can still feel the pain echoing in my now hollow chest.

This man is going to feel the slow agony of what I am truly capable of now that there is nothing to hold me to this world of men and the morals they cling to.

I have become nothing more than a mass of blood and bones, pieces and parts to be used to complete this final act. My heart is gone, the soul that gave it meaning left and took what little of mine I had left with it. As I take these last final steps into the room where they have him tied up, the agony dissipates. I have become numb, I am nothing but a mass of blood and bones. One purpose, one final mission left then it will all be done. 

I'll see you soon Lip…


End file.
